He Once Was A True Love Of Mine
by Boku Hetalian
Summary: During WWII, Alfred F. Jones is a cheerful American soldier who wins the love of a hardhearted Brit named Arthur Kirkland, but everything changes when the American is reported as Missing In Action. Arthur wants to believe that his love still lives, but each day of waiting for him to return takes its toll, but he can do nothing except wait. 'Scarborough Fair' inspired. Who knew?


**He Once Was A True Love Of Mine**

**~Prologue~**

It was a rainy day. Clouds covered the skies of London like a think blanket as a steady drizzle fell. With his head dipped down and hands stuck in his coat pockets, a blond haired man walked down a cobblestone street to the local pub. His emerald green eyes were clouded with sorrow and regret as he stepped through the familiar doorway and the scent of alcohol filled his nostrils. It was hard to believe that this man, just a few months ago, could have called himself 'The luckiest and happiest man alive', but fate had once again proven to him that all good things must come to an end. Now here he was, trying to drown his sorrows; he had lost count how many days in a row he had come to this place. The man sat at his usual spot beside the window and stared out it for a few seconds then sighed and turned his head to the bartender, when he heard his pet name.

"Same as usual today, Artie?", was the bartenders old, tired question that he asked each day as he saw this particular man walk into his establishment. He didn't even have to see the man nod before he poured a glass of whiskey and took it to the man sitting by the window, and set the glass in front of him. "You're going to end up killing yourself, drinking as much as you do. You know that?", the old man warned and the blond just glanced at him.

"That's the idea.", he breathed as he brought his hands out of his pockets took a sip of the whiskey. In his other hand he held a yellow, crumbled piece of paper that had all but been destroyed by the man within these past few months. Arthur had come to memorize the heartbreaking words that it bore in a matter of days.

_'To Arthur Kirkland, _

_We regret to inform you that your friend, Alfred F. Jones, has been reported as Missing in Action behind Enemy lines. Our condolences,_

_The United States Army.'_

It had been four months now, four months of refusing to believe those words. Four months of sinking deeper and deeper into a state of depression that Arthur knew he would only go deeper into as the rest of his days passed. As words and curses ran themselves through his mind, there was a question that lingered.

'_Why?_',he thought,'Why couldn't you have said those words? Those three bloody words! You had your chance, Artie, and you blew it. Now, you'll never have another chance to say them again.'

In the back of his mind he could still see him; that stupid Yank and his stupid grin. Alfred, or 'Alfie', as some of his American friends would call him. To Arthur, he wasn't what this telegram was calling him, he wasn't simply a 'friend'; he was so much more than that simple word. He was an aquaintence, which grew into a nuisance, then a friend and eventually a lover; he knew the American would have wanted Arthur to also think of him as his 'hero', and now, the Brit would have gladly done so.

Taking another sip of the alcoholic drink, Arthur looked back out the dusty window; unable to keep himself from hoping that somehow, someway, he would see the git walking down the street to the pub and sitting at this table with him, one last time. To anyone else, it would have been a normal day in London, at the time. The men that hadn't enlisted in the military, walked to and from their workplaces. Children trailed behind their mothers after receiving their rations at the store. The second World War was in full swing, with the United States joining just recently after being attacked by Japan. Hundreds, if not thousands were enlisting and fighting every day, with that same number of them dying each day as well; and yet to Arthur, this one American had caused his entire world to fall apart and made him act as if the war was now lost.

Though he hated to even think about it, Arthur couldn't stop himself from wondering what happened to that cheerful, young soldier. The Brit knew that an M.I.A telegram normally meant that someone was more than likely dead, but the body had not been found. But how? Arthur knew Alfred, he knew how strong willed and tough he was, he knew that he wouldn't just give in to anyone without a good fight. With this knowledge, a part of Arthur believed that Alfred was still alive, but that would be worse for him. If Alfred was still alive, then that meant he could be in a military prison. If he were in a military prison, then that would mean he would be tortured for information. If he was being tortured then-, Arthur simply couldn't bring himself to think of that as he downed the rest of the glass and all but slammmed it on the table.

The Brit held his hand in one of his hands as he felt a few tears slide down his cheek. Memories of all the days he had spent with that man flooded his mind; he wished he could relive them and change them so that maybe fate would have not allowed this. Turning his head, Arthur stared at the fireplace at the other side of the pub. He watched as the flames in it danced and he could still feel the ache in the back of his head from being thrown into the wall next while trying to break apart a drunken fight between two Americans that had just been shipped over here. Arthur remembered that night well, that was the night he had first met Alfred; in fact, it was Alfred who had thrown him into that bloody wall.

{ That ending though. Okay yeah, I kind of wrote this on a whim after listening to a particular instrumental of Scarborough Fair and I kind of got an idea for a plot and here we are now. I don't know if I'm going to continue this or not, but I figured I might as well have posted what I had because, why not? I'm sorry if this is too dramatic or sappy, but if I continue it, I can assure it will get better. Oh, by the way, if I continue a great deal of this thing is going to be told in a flashback; like all the way up to the midpoint. So, I thought I should warn you about that. Yeahhhh... Thank you for reading and please give me your opinion on whether I should continue this or not. }


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